Empire Lasts
by Exile-Dragon
Summary: An alternative ending to the Inheritance Trilogy. Eragon must complete his training in Ellesmera before he will stand against the brute force of the Empire. What will become of he and his winged partner? Chapter 1 uploaded 4th October. READ AND REVIEW.
1. Prologue

Empires Last – An Alternate End to C.P's Inheritance Trilogy

Disclaimer: I'm not C.P nor anyone up in Paolini International, Knopf or Corgi, so please don't sue me.

Prologue

Eragon stared blankly into the plains. So many had been lost, and yet so many have been saved, he thought. Saphira hulked over him, her warm breath bearing on his back.

_Murtagh_ she hissed distastefully _He now works for that egg breaker, although it's hard to believe. _

_As of I _he answered sadly. When Murtagh was gone, he had fervently prayed to the gods to protect him even though it was likely that he had survived. Now, the cruelest of fates had reunited them. _He still has a good hard, but the power of the ancient language bounds all _he added sadly. Eragon was unsure about what he thought of Murtagh now.

Hrothgar was dead because of Murtagh. That was something that Eragon could not forgive him for. Tears fell from Eragon's face as he thought of the late Dwarven King.

_All will be well little one._ Saphira read his thoughts accurately as always. _But I don't see how _Eragon replied, shaking his head.

Even as he spoke, his mouth felt sore from the punch that Roran had delivered. Much explanation would have to be done, Eragon noted. Roran's arrival had been the only cause of celebration. At least his cousin was safe contrary to his worries. If anything had happened to Roran, there would have been nothing worth living for.

_Such is the burden of a rider. I have lost much since I have bore the responsibility of a rider. First it was Brom, now it is Ajihad, Hrothgar and Murtagh. Even Roran has suffered because of this. _

_But you still have me by your side. There is much to be done. If the pain in your heart is true, make their sacrifice worthwhile. Use the pain to guide you; all the more we must destroy Galbatorix. Fate demands that you are a dragonrider who carries on the legacy of the race. You must travel to Ellesmera to finish your training with Glaedr, and keep to your promise. Destroy the Raz'zac with Roran and save Katrina. I will be with you, together we are one. Together we are undefeatable. _

A figure had stridden towards his side. Arya. She bowed to Saphira, and acknowledged Eragon in the elven tongue. "Argetlam, it is indeed my grief to learn about Murtagh. It is the way of life. Time is irreversible, it can only be saved. We must hurry back to the Varden. With the emergence of the new rider, there is much to be reconsidered. Hrothgar will have to buried, a new dwarven king chosen."

Eragon held Saphira's words close to him. It had meant a lot to have a soul mate by his side. But Saphira was more than a soul mate. Saphira was a dragon. Saphira was _his_ dragon. Together, they were the last of the dragonriders.

With renewed determination, Eragon turned and faced the beautiful elf. He nodded in agreement. They were now racing against time, but they would win the race. As Saphira's powerful wings took her into the air, Eragon and Arya walked off into the setting Surdian sun. They were heading towards the Varden


	2. Varden

Chapter 1

Thanks for all the reviews. I'll work hard for the coming chapters.

Eragon was awoken by the piercing glares of the sun. He jerked upright, and glanced checked for Saphira's presence, assuring himself that she was still by his side. She was sleeping soundly. The room was stifling hot from her breath, and he found his lithe body sticky with perspiration. _A bad choice of room_ he thought to himself grimly.

He stretched his muscles, letting the tension dissipate from his muscles. Then he pushed himself out of bed and silently walked out of the room. The cool morning air rushed against his face, chilling him to the bone. For the poor ventilation of the room, it had been compensated for. The Beor Mountains sat beautifully on mother earth, accentuating the pleasant climate. The ice-capped snow peaks were pure white, the valleys below formed gracefully.

Anderon, the new headquaters of the Varden. Since Nasuada had instigated the relocation of the Varden, the only problem was where it would be situated. Nasuada and Orrin had agreed to a small city on the western tip of Surda, which was an ideal location for the Varden would be able to swiftly communicate with both Surda and the Dwarves.

Within weeks, the mass exodus proceeded as the citizens of the Varden left their old residence of Tronjheim and left for new prospects.

_Marvelous._

_Saphira?_

_Morning, sleepyhead._

_And you slept longer than me._

_True. It's even better if you flew across it. _Saphira was eying Eragon playfully.

Eragon almost agreed. But then he thought of Hrothgar and the despairing dwarves, and reconsidered his decision. The subservient thirteen clan leaders were now at their dangerous moment. Because of the split power in Tronjheim, any of the dwarf clan leader could ascend the throne, and most dwarves did not see eye to eye with dragonriders.

_That would be suicide._

_Indeed. _Saphira began humming.

The morning passed without significant events, and Eragon was glad to be left just alone. His thoughts were still tangled, and he needed time to sort out the mess. Sooner or later, he would have to talk face to face with Roran, but now was just not the time for brotherly conversations.

Eventually, hunger drove Eragon out of hibernation. Saphira took off for her daily hunting flights, and Eragon walked along the streets of Anderon scouring for food while at the same time exploring a post-war Varden. He missed the weight of Zar'roc on his waist.

As he strode through the streets, men and women greeted him alike. It was just like a "Normal Varden" day, but somehow, Eragon felt that the grandeur had been lost from before. Still, it was a start…

With his new abstinence from meat, Eragon settled for a piping hot potato bun, thinking about where he should go now. His movements were guided by instincts, and soon he found himself at the gates of the Varden Headquarters.

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A burly guard stood on watch, casting his glance at the imposing figure approaching towards his direction.

_The pointed ears._ _It was Eragon Shadeslayer, better known as Argetlam. Could it be true, the rumors of another rider working for the Empire? The thought seemed preposterous. But if it were true, then even more so would be the burden on Argetlam. They had better hope that he would not buckle under pressure._

He stepped aside to let Argetlam pass.

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"Hey Roran, over here!"

Roran looked confusedly around; wondering had called out his name.

"Here, you blind bat!"

He spun around, and came face to face with the tanned face of Baldor, son of Horst.

"Good day Roran, haven't seen you around for a couple of days now." Baldor seemed unusually jovial.

"Hi. Yeah well, I'm still adjusting." Roran said truthfully, just as a cold gust of wind blew by, chilling him to the bone. High up in the mountains, Tronjheim was certainly different from Carvahall.

Carvahall, it was close in his heart, yet far beyond the vast reaches of the Hadarac Desert. He thought sadly of what had probably befallen his hometown and its remnant villagers. He pictured the last lines of defenses shredded apart by the brute force of the Empire, annihilated beyond the name of humanity, slaughtered to the last child. A surge of uncontrollable fury enveloped his body. Roran was unsure of who it had been meant for. The Empire? Himself? Eragon?

He decided that it was the former. He made a silent vow to the Gods to crush the Empire to the ground until all traces of its once horrible history were to leave the land for eternity.

Roran whirled back from the depths of his thoughts, his face red. Baldor stared at him curiously.

"You alright there, young lad? Tell you what, let's go back to dad's shop and get a drink, have a little chat. How 'bout that?"

"Horst has a shop?" Roran asked inquisitively.

Baldor chuckled.

"Yep, can't ask him to sit still for even a minute. Of course I did try, but he refused and insisted on work. Before you know it, he was sitting in his new smith, working day and night. Still, business is going well, and everyone's contented for the moment."

"You and Albriech helping out there?"

"Yeah, there's nothing for us to do other than that. Nuff' said about be. What have you been up to?"

Roran became angry once more. "I'm waiting for Eragon to appear; it almost seems like he's avoiding me"

Baldor's eyes widened. "You know, it still hasn't sunk in that Eragon Carvahall villager is a legendary dragonrider, what the Varden call Argetlam. It seems that nothing is impossible in Alagaesia. Who knows, I might wake up one day to find that we're still back home." He gave a hearty laugh.

"Certainly. But all I worry for is Katrina." Roran replied firmly, his worries surfacing in fresh waves.

Baldor turned grim. "To be honest, I'm glad we're at the Varden. We fight the Empire, who are ruled by that insane king, the population driven to madness by cursed black magic. And to think that a year ago, I had been consoling myself that Galbatorix had our best interests at heart." He spat on the ground. "My heart goes out to you and Katrina, but right now I'm afraid that there's nothing much you can do."

Roran badly wanted to reject that statement, but he knew that Baldor was right. With Alagaesia in mayhem and a long, drawn out war approaching, he could not hope for anyone to notice the disappearance of a female. Needless to say, Eragon was tied down by his duties as a dragonrider, and as much as promised to rescue Katrina, the Varden would never allow it.

Katrina. He could only think of her.

Soon, they reached Horst's smith, and they proceeded inside for a reunion.

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When Eragon entered the study, Nasuada was sitting at her study table, a stack of letters higher than her head rested on the table. Eragon greeted her with a bow. He had pledged his fidelity to Nasuada and was now partially subservient to her. Her eye bags were distinct, her posture sluggish. Eragon knew that she had not slept well since arriving back at the Varden.

She flashed a weary smile at Eragon. "It's good to see you. Is anything the problem?" she inquired.

"Nigh. It is I who should be asking you that question. You look terrible." Eragon said truthfully.

Nasuada sighed. "News of the Empire's movements has been pouring from all corners of Alagaesia. According to reports, the Empire troops have been stationed at Melian and Aroughs, which means that a full scale invasion of Surda is around the corner."

Eragon was shocked. How could the Empire rally in such a short time after their recent defeat?

"Orrin and I cannot comprehend how they have managed to gather such a large force in a short time. Already, Dauth and Cithri have been garrisoned with Surdian troops. But if the Empire strikes at any time now, all resistance would be crushed no matter how hard we fight. Surda's army might be better trained than those Emipre rats, but they are too small a force to challenge the might of Galbatorix forces."

Eragon knew that the Empire was stronger than ever with the inclusion of a new dragonrider. _Murtagh might be even leading the attack!_ Surda alone would stand no chance.

"The Varden has been crippled by the recent war, and we cannot support Surda with many troops or much supplies. The only forces we can count on are the Urgals, but their race has retreated to the far eastern waste lands where they hope to gain refuge from Galbatorix."

For once, Eragon felt helpless. He was once the Varden's trump card, but the Empire had evened the odds with Murtagh. He pondered on what course of action should he should take. Oromis was still waiting at Ellesmera, but the true urgency lay in the borders of Surda. He thought it wise to consult Nasuada.

"There is only one choice, to go to Ellesmera and complete your training. It is the only way that you will be able to challenge Galbatorix, and it is the only way to appease the elves."

Eragon could not help but to protest.

"Nasuada, you must realize that we cannot lose Surda as an ally. They have helped countless number of times in the past."

"I have already sent two divisions of men to Dauth. It is all we can afford at the moment. Do not forget Shadeslayer that I am the leader of the Varden and I have its best interests at heart. Now that you have sworn loyalty to me, you must obey me and my instructions." Her tone was firm and unyielding.

"So be it" Eragon gave in. "But let it be clear that I must travel to Helgrind to destroy the Raz'zac. It is a promise that I have made to Roran and I intend to uphold my word."

"Very well. I will leave you to decide your allegiance, family between services to your league. But before that, there is something we all know that must be done. In two days time we set off towards Farthen Dur, where Hrothgar will be buried and his successor chosen."

She flashed a grin. "You wouldn't want them as enemies now would you?"

Nasuada was certainly smart. She understood the politics of the situation very much like him. _The Varden is in good hands_

_There sits a dedicated and leader. She could teach many men the meaning of determination and courage._

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Roran picked up the blade given to him by Horst, a reunion gift. He swung it a full circle. It was lightweight and perfectly balanced, not to mention being ornately crafted. Horst had supposedly taken three days to mould the sword, an exceptionally long time even for a master smith. Roran's old battle hammer had been destroyed, and the sword would be his new weapon. He was curious to why Horst had given such an expensive gift, especially since it was almost worth the entire value of the other swords.

He glanced towards his left flank as the sound of clashing steel filled his ears. He had arrived at the sparring area of the Varden, which trained the non-combatants to be able to defend themselves sufficiently.

If he were to keep up to times and have any chance of defeating the Raz'zac, he would have to drastically improve his battle skills. And it started from as early as now.

For the first time he stepped onto the patch of well-trimmed grass. He gripped his sword uneasily; he was as unfamiliar to the people there as they were to him. _Who was willing to train with a stranger like him?_

As if to answer his call, a man nearby walked towards him.

"New here?"

"Yes."

"My name's Garet."

Garet offered a hand, which Roran shook with his own.

"Mine's Roran."

Roran smiled. He had wanted to tell Garet of his relation to Eragon, but the truth would shoot him to fame, which was the last thing he wanted now.

"Hey, you want to duel? Let's see how proficient you are with your sword arm. Short strokes only or we'll cut each other into pieces. First to tap wins"

"Aye." Roran vaguely knew what it meant.

Garet drew his sword, an arm length katana which threatened hack through flesh and bone when optimum contact was made. Roran clumsily raised his blade to shoulder level, and saw a smile playing on the edges of Garet's lips. Roran was apprehensive of making a fool out of himself, but there was always a first for everything.

As they prepared for the confrontation, Roran worked on what he could use for an advantage. The answer was obvious. _Play on your opponent's overconfidence. _He knew that if he were to win, he had to do it fast. A long duel would tilt the scales in his opponent's favor.

Garet made the first strike, a series of blows which was designed to tire the enemy to resignation. Roran parried the attacks easily. _Is that all he's got?_ Garet broke off the attack. Short strokes only. Roran waited for a moment, but Garet made no attempt to challenge him. _He wants me to attack! He's testing my skill!_ Roran belatedly realized. Roran lunged forward, aiming specifically for Garet's sides. But Garet's sword always matched Roran's and his defenses were impenetrable. Eventually, Roran gave out the fruitless assault and drew back. His arms were growing leaden from the effort, and he was panting more so than Garet. Garet chuckled and began a new wave of assault. Roran barely managed to parry the strokes of his opponent, still steady as ever. Before long, Roran knew that he had no chance of winning the encounter and could only hope to stall for time by fending off the blows. A few more bouts drained him of all strength and he could no longer act as the aggresor.

Finally, Garet feigned a downward cut. Roran slowed down for a fraction of a second to deflect the thrust. He swung his blade up for the resulting jab, but then he felt the cool metal of his opponent's rapier resting against his shoulder. He had lost.

"Well... nice fight eh? Seriously, not bad for your first time. You're gifted with the blade, I can tell you that."

"But I lost!" Roran was still catching his breath, barely embracing his defeat.

Garet laughed. "Of course! I'm a familiar customer around here. Not many can beat be around here. I've gone eighteen matches without defeat since my duel with Fredrich, the Varden combat trainer. Still, that was a close fight if you ever saw one" he remarked proudly.

Roran couldn't help but admire Garet. He was about Roran's age, but he was fitter, faster and stronger. In Carvahall Roran was considered a formidable adversay for his age. But now exposed to the outside world, Roran knew that there was more than what met his eye. Literally. Roran made a promise that he would train up and emulate his new found friend.

Still, he could only think of Katrina.

He would save her even if he had to go through hell, with or without the help of Eragon.

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As it turned out Garet was from Vidoet, a small city southeast of Helgrind, the lair of the Raz'zac. When Garet was fourteen, a group of Urgals had repeatedly attacked his village. The village chief had sent an emergency request to the Empire for assistance against the brute fiends. They waited for days, but salvation never arrived. Finally, the Urgals broke through the dogged defenses of the weary villagers and slaughtered all who stood and fought. In the process, Garet's parents were brutally dismembered by the horned brutes, but the teen had survived by pure chance. When the assault had abated and the invaders gone, Garet saw the devastation of the village, torn into shreds in a single night, and the dead citizens whose body piled up into heaps. The nausea which had risen within him was doubled by his newly developed anger towards the Empire. They had been forsaken during the most urgent time. With a few survivors, Garet had sought refuge in the Varden, turning his back on the Empire and never to look back at the fateful day.

Roran could never imagine something worse than the revelation in Carvahall. For the first time, he could not bring up the self pity which he had consoled him since the day he left Carvahall. It sickened him to know that there were so many casualties from the atrocities of the Empire. _Why would they do that?_

_Because Galbatorix is evil._

Still wearing a sad expression, Garet downed a glass of beer at one swipe. "Ah my friend, why dwell on the past when time is undefeatable?"

"Nay lad, I don't look to the past. I look to the future." Roran took a sip of ale.

"And what do you see will happen to the war in Surda?"

"What? There's a war in Surda?" Roran nearly choked.

"Ain't keeping up to times are you? Haven't you heard that the Empire's forces are threatening Surda Northeastern border? I'd say that the attack will begin soon."

"So fast? I thought we routed them flat at Jiet River!"

"Aye, but the cursed Empire have unlimited resources and soldiers that breed like rats. Besides, their main forces remain intact. You've got to be mad to think that they have shown their full strength. Perhaps Lady Nasuada doesn't no either. As they always say, no one really knows the extent of a Rider's strength. Damn Galbatorix. The Varden are praying hard that he doesn't get any of his two dragon eggs to hatch, or else we'd be in for it big time!"

Roran already knew that the Empire had gotten one to hatch in the form of his cousin. He grimaced at the thought of having a mind twisted relative.

"Hey mate, I'll probably be enlisting in the Varden army soon enough. I'm good enough, that's for sure. The only thing is that I've never killed a man before. The Varden is sending an expeditionary division to Cithri in three days time. And I tell you, I'm not going to miss this opportunity. I'll kill every Empire soldier for each of my fallen villagers."

With that, Garet slumped onto the bar table, intoxicated by the two jugs of liquid he had just downed.

Roran had killed more than ten men so far, so it wasn't something new for him. But he had never fought in a full scale war before, and with his current stamina and strength, he suspected he would not last for ten minutes.

Garet would be enlisting in the Varden's forces. _How about me? _He asked himself. His main priority was getting Katrina rescued from Helgrind, lair of the Raz'zac. At the moment however, he would probably eviscerated by those monsters. _I guess that that there's only one thing left to do._ If he was to rescue his Katrina, he would have to learn to fight. He would start in Surda. He would fight for the Varden. He would gain their trust. He would go with is brother to the gates of Helgrind where he would confront the Raz'zac. He would rescue Katrina. He would go to the ends of the earth for her lest death would befall him.

End of Chapter

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